To Wipe the Slate Clean
by NothingProfound
Summary: After dropping off Jack Harkness, a fatal accident causes the Ninth Doctor to regenerate, but things go wrong. Not knowing who or what he is, will the Doctor be able to reunite with Rose? How will she react? AU after The Doctor Dances. 9Rose, 10Rose-A/N: On temporary hiatus, but not abandoned
1. More than a Passing Fancy

**Title: Clean Slate  
Summary: After dropping off Jack Harkness, the Doctor and Rose return to London, 2006. The Doctor wanders off and runs into trouble. A fatal accident causes him to regenerate, but things go wrong. Not knowing who or what he is, will the Doctor be able to reunite with Rose? How will she react when she finds he has a different face? AU after the Doctor Dances.  
Genre: Angst, Drama, Romance  
Pairing: 9th Doctor/Rose, 10th Doctor/Rose  
Rating: PG  
Content Warning: Blood, violence, Mickey-the-Idiot  
Spoilers: Rose, The Long Game, The Empty Child, The Doctor Dances, Boom Town, The Parting of the Ways, Children in Need Special, The Christmas Invasion**

**A/N: **This is the first chapter of a long story which will probably end up with at least ten chapters. Tell me what you think.

* * *

The mechanical put-put of the hover cars filled the air as they floated past. Wind swept down between the pearly white buildings, forming a wind tunnel that rustled the Doctor's leather jacket and blew Rose's hair into her face.

"Panchax Four," the Doctor announced, raising his voice slightly to be heard over the din. "Closest thing to 51st century Earth besides the real thing. No Time Agency, but if you look hard enough you might find a time ship."

Captain Jack Harkness nodded approvingly. "Looks good."

Rose put a hand up to keep her hair out of her face. "Are you sure you won't come with us?" she asked hopefully. The Doctor rolled his eyes.

"I don't think your Doctor is too keen on that idea," Jack said with a nod towards the older man.

"He's always like that," Rose said with a teasing look in the Doctor's direction.

"Rose!" the Doctor protested.

Jack laughed. "Nah. I wouldn't want to be a third wheel. You two are cute together. And you're not my type."

"If you're sure…" Rose said.

"I am. Goodbye, Rose. It's been a blast," Jack said. He took her face in his hands and kissed her soundly, but briefly.

The Doctor looked away, jealousy boiling up and tightening his chest. Unable to stand there and watch, the Doctor wandered off. He'd be back in a few minutes and Rose could handle herself. By that time, he would be rid of Jack Harkness and it would be just him and Rose again; the way it should be.

That man seemed to think he was Rassilon's gift to the universe. Sure, he'd proven himself worthy of a little respect after he'd risked his life to get rid of that bomb, but it had been his stupid con that had caused the problem in the first place and almost brought about the end of the human race. Besides he treated Rose like another one of his prospects; just another he could use and then toss aside. The Doctor could put up with Rose's pretty boys, but Harkness's dance and let dance attitude wasn't something he would put up with, not when it came to Rose. She was too important to him.

Why did Rose always pick up good-looking strays? Wasn't traveling through time and space good enough? The Doctor faltered over the next thought. Wasn't he good enough?

The Doctor groaned to himself and dropped onto a bench. He buried his face in his hands. What was he thinking? Rose was a nineteen-year-old human, he was a nine-_hundred_-year-old Time Lord with more issues than London had stupid apes. What could he possibly offer her besides a trip of a lifetime? He was no good at dating and dancing and he didn't do families or domestic. What would the Gallifreyan council think if they knew he was having such thoughts about a human, barely out of adolescence? They'd laugh in his face. Not that he thought much of the council's opinion.

If he couldn't give her the attention she wanted, why should he stop her from receiving it from someone else? His mind had quite a few unsanctioned answered to that question.

_Because she's mine…Because they have no right to her…Because she's Rose Tyler and I'm the Doctor…Because I've never met anyone who understood me like she does…Because I love her…_

The Doctor sat up and rubbed one hand over his dark, short-cropped hair. How did Rose Tyler, a shop girl from a council estate, cause him to go to pieces so easily? He was the Doctor. He was unflappable. He was impenetrable. He was—he was hopelessly in love and insanely jealous. 

* * *

Rose blushed to her toes when Jack pulled away and said, "'bye, Jack."

Jack grinned roguishly before frowning slightly. "What happened to the Doc?"

Rose looked around, startled. "Doctor?" she called. "Where'd he get off to?"

Jack smirked. "I don't think the Doctor's the spectator type. Jealous much?"

"Who? The Doctor?" Rose denied half-heartedly, blushing. She knew that the Doctor had been jealous of Jack; he had practically admitted it during their first dance in the Albion Hospital basement.

Jack grinned again. "Come on, Rose, don't play innocent. I've seen the way the Doctor looks at you. And I've felt the way he's glared at me ever since we met. I know I'm just a fun distraction. The Doctor's the one you want."

"Jack…" Rose started, her blush deepening.

"Tell him I said good luck and goodbye. Maybe I'll see you two again someday."

"Maybe," Rose agreed. She threw her arms around him in a hug and then stood waving as he disappeared into the crowd. "Now to find the Doctor," she said to herself. She hoped he wasn't sulking. If he was, he wouldn't be in a good mood again for days.

Rose wandered in the direction she guessed he was most likely to go and scanned the crowds for the familiar leather jacket. He would stand out in the more cheerily, clothed natives, all in whites or bright colors. He really needed to get himself a mobile phone. It would be so easy to just call him. She hoped she didn't lose the way back to the TARDIS. The Doctor would call her as soon as he got back and found her gone, but she didn't think it would improve his mood if he had to come and get her.

In the end, he wasn't hard to find. He was seated on what looked like a porcelain bench, his dark clothes contrasting sharply against the glistening white surface and buildings around him. He was staring moodily at the pedestrians around him, most giving the brooding figure a wide berth.

Rose gave him a smile as she sat down beside him. "Doctor. What're you doing out here? Why didn't you stay and say goodbye to Captain Jack?" She winced as she realized bringing Jack up probably hadn't been the best idea.

The Doctor gave her a brittle smile. "I'm sure he didn't mind. Thought I'd give you two a chance to be alone," he said, bitterness coloring his tone.

Rose sighed. "Doctor, Jack's doesn't mean anything more to me than…Adam." Rose and the Doctor winced in unison. "All right, maybe a little more than Adam. But he's fun, that's all."

"Why are you telling me this?" the Doctor demanded.

"I just thought…"

"Well, you thought wrong. I'm not one of your pretty boys, Rose. My world doesn't revolve around you. You thought I was jealous?" He laughed mirthlessly and stood. "I'm a Time Lord, Rose. I'm not susceptible to human emotions."

"Oh, really!" Rose said, hurt and angry. "Then what about in the hospital basement? If that wasn't 'human emotion,' then I don't know what is!"

"Call it idle curiosity," the Doctor said cruelly.

Rose made a hurt noise in the back of her throat as she stared at him in shock. The Doctor looked away, unable to hold her gaze. "Is that what I am, then? Just a freak under glass?" she demanded, jumping to her feet.

"You know I'm not human," he said sternly.

"No, you're not, are you? You really are alien," she said tartly, sounding quite a bit like her mother.

"You knew that when you came aboard. I didn't force you," he countered.

"In that case, Doctor, take me home."

The Doctor looked at her sharply. "What?" he asked in disbelief, worry creeping into his eyes.

"You heard me, Doctor, take me home," Rose repeated.

"Rose, I—" he started a bit desperately.

"Please, Doctor, just take me home," Rose said, trying hard to mean it.

"Don't do that!" the Doctor snapped, bringing her up short, his mood swinging from anxiety to anger abruptly. "Don't even suggest that unless you've thought it through, unless you're absolutely certain. 'Cause once I've taken you home to stay, it's permanent."

She stared into his icy, blue eyes as they held hers intently, frightened by the prospect of never seeing the Doctor again.

"'s not a game, Rose. You can't just threaten to leave every time we have a row. I won't stand for it," he said sternly, angry that she had tried to play him like that. She immediately felt ashamed of acting like a petulant child, but wasn't ready to back down. He was the one who'd insulted her.

"And _I_ won't stand being insulted and played with," Rose countered, standing to meet him head-to-head.

He towered over her angrily. "I'm not the one whose been playing with you. That'd be the good Captain. He wouldn't know how to properly treat a woman if he was handed an instruction manual and given four years to learn it."

"At least _he_ didn't lie to me!"

"I've never lied to you!"

"'I'm not susceptible to human emotions,' like your Spock or something," she mocked.

"Thought that's what you wanted. A little Spock?"

"Not like that!" Rose shouted. She looked away and took a deep breath. "You're so sad, Doctor. Isn't that a human emotion? When we're together and we're laughing, you're happy. Isn't that a human emotion? What else do you feel, Doctor?"

The Doctor stared at her, stunned. His eyes burned with emotional turmoil. "Rose…" he started, but couldn't finish whatever it was he was going to say.

"I don't want to leave," Rose said timidly.

"I'm sorry," he said, reaching out and tentatively cupping her cheek with his hand. "I didn't mean what I said."

Rose shut her eyes and leaned into the contact. "I hoped you didn't."

"What were we arguing about?" the Doctor asked.

Rose looked up at him and laughed. "Whether or not you were jealous."

"Oh. Well…I don't know 'bout jealous, but I am glad it's just you and me again," the Doctor said, caressing her cheek briefly before letting go.

Rose smiled. "Me, too."

The Doctor grinned. "Fan_tas_tic," he declared, taking her hand and leading her back toward the TARDIS. "I know just where to go! It's beautiful. 's called Woman Wept. The entire planet was flash frozen in the middle of an hurricane. You'll love it," he enthused.

"Are you trying to tell me something?"

He frowned. "No…why?"

"Just checking," Rose said.

* * *

Rose and the Doctor stood beneath the crest of a giant wave that was just beginning its crash downwards toward the surface of the ocean. The frozen white cap provided just enough protection from the wind as they looked out in wonder at the moment in time around them, stars glittering in the midnight sky.

"'s amazing," Rose said for the hundredth time. The Doctor grinned as he had each time before. Rose leaned into the Doctor's shoulder for a little more warmth and he wrapped his arm around her. They stood like that for a long moment before Rose broke the silence. "It's alright, ya know," she said softly.

"What is?" the Doctor asked.

"To be jealous."

"Rose…" he warned, obviously not wanting to start that conversation again.

"'m just saying, I was jealous of Jabe," she admitted hesitantly.

"Rose, I'm—You were?" he asked, looking at her in surprise. She nodded. "Oh," he said, his bemusement almost comical.

"I mean, what's a frumpy, little, _human_ girl like me have against a nice-looking tree like her?" Rose said with a grin.

The Doctor let his gaze run up and down her briefly as if in appraisal. "Hmm."

"'Hmm?' That's all you've got to say? 'Hmm?'" she demanded in mock-indignation.

"Yeah. I was just wondering what you'd look like with sprouts," the Doctor said with an impish grin. Rose elbowed him in the side. "Oof! That hurt!"

"Better be careful or you'll be getting more than a nudge," Rose warned, grinning despite herself.

The Doctor's answering grin faded into a thoughtful expression as he gazed out at the frozen waste land around them. "You lot live and breathe, and work and eat, and sleep day after day on your little world, all the time never expecting tragedy to strike. This place was a lot like Earth once, ya know. This beach is beautiful now covered in ice and snow, but underneath…There were people visiting this beach, others living in the city ten miles from here, not expecting anything. Never saw it coming until it was too late."

Rose watched the wind blow snow across the ice, imagining what it might have looked like and feeling for the people who had died here. Finally, she looked up at the Doctor whose expression was dreary. "Cheery company, you are," she said teasingly, poking him in the chest. He looked at her solemnly. "It's cold. Let's go back to the TARDIS and have some hot chocolate," she said.

The Doctor grinned. "I've a better idea. Let's go to the Swiss Alps. I know a skiing lodge where they make the best hot chocolate in the galaxy."

"What time?" Rose asked.

"Anytime! As long as it's not after the 40th century," he said enthusiastically.

"What happens in the 40th century?"

"Had to blow it up. Someone thought it would make a good staging ground for taking over the Earth," the Doctor said nonchalantly.

Rose rolled her eyes. "Only you would find a reason to blow up a skiing lodge."

"Don't know what you mean, really. I was just trying to save your sorry, little planet," the Doctor said with a long-suffering expression. "You lot don't deserve the best hot chocolate in the galaxy."

Rose deigned not to reply to that. They walked hand in hand back to the TARDIS and Rose was glad to duck in out of the cold. "Do you think, after we have our hot chocolate, we could stop in to my mum?" Rose asked as the Doctor started the TARDIS's engines. "Just for a visit," she added quickly when she saw him go still at her question. "It's been a while and after everything that's happened recently…"

"Sure," the Doctor said. He smiled. "You might want to leave off the bit about the barrage balloon," he teased.

"Gonna get a smack, you are," Rose said indignantly. "'s not like you never get yourself into trouble."

"Never mind that. Hot chocolate, it is! And marshmallows to match?"

"Yeah!"

"Here we go…!"


	2. What is Erased

The TARDIS landed smoothly for once as it set down in its usual spot on the Powell Estate. Rose stepped out followed by the Doctor, who shut the door behind him and leaned against the blue box.

"How long?" Rose asked, turning to him.

"Two weeks, give or take," the Doctor answered without looking at his watch.

"Give or take what? A few months…? A few years?"

"Nah, maybe a day," the Doctor assured her.

Rose smiled. "You coming up?"

"What? So your mum can slap me again? No, thank you," the Doctor said.

"You haven't done anything yet."

"I'm sure she can come up with a reason."

"All right. I won't be long. Give me a ring if you smell trouble, yeah?" Rose said as she started to walk away.

The Doctor nodded briefly and Rose took that for at least a tentative agreement. He would probably forget his promise as soon as he caught a whiff of something brewing. But she hoped he'd come back for her as soon as there was time.

"Mum! Mum, are you there?" Rose called as she entered her mother's flat.

"Rose! Rose, you're back!" Jackie Tyler embraced her tightly. "Are you alright? Is _he _'round somewhere?"

Rose smiled. "I'm fine, Mum. I've missed you."

"I've missed you, too, sweetheart," her mother said. Jackie pulled back to look at her. "Are you staying?" she asked as she always did.

Rose shook her head sadly. She hated disappointing her mother, but she wouldn't give up what she had with the Doctor for the world. "No, Mum. You know this is what I want."

"Come in and have a cuppa," Jackie said resignedly. "Where's the Doctor, then?"

Rose came further into the house as Jackie went into the kitchen. "Waiting by the TARDIS. How've you been, Mum?"

"Pretty good, I guess. Been seeing a new bloke, Howard. Bev's engaged again. Third time this year. At least it's the same fellow this time…" Jackie's chatter continued as she rattled around in the kitchen. Rose let it wash over her, enjoying the feeling of familiarity it brought.

It was strange. The other times the Doctor had taken her home, she had always felt like it was just that: a homecoming. Despite the fact that she had enjoyed traveling through space and time with the Doctor, home was still the flat on the Powell Estate. But this time, she listened to her mother with a sense of nostalgia, like this place was the visit instead of the return. Like when she visited her gran, the house, the smells, the people were familiar and welcome, but not home. Is that what she was feeling? When had the TARDIS become home instead of her mother's flat?

"Where have you been, then? Some alien planet?" Jackie asked, standing in the doorway to the kitchen.

"Nah, we've been to the Alps for hot chocolate!" Rose told her happily, still enjoying the ridiculousness of her life.

"The _Swiss_ Alps? Blimey!" Jackie exclaimed. "For hot chocolate?"

"Yeah, best in the galaxy apparently!" Rose laughed.

"You're bonkers! The two of you!" Jackie declared, half-serious.

Rose grinned. Her mother was cracking, she could tell. She was beginning to accept the life Rose had chosen. "A friend of the Doctor's has a skiing lodge up there. He knows someone just about everywhere…even if they don't know him."

"Don't you have a kitchen in that blue box?" Jackie asked as she went back into her own to pour the tea.

"Yeah, but the Doctor's not one for domestic. If we can eat somewhere exotic, we do. The kitchen's more practical than anything."

"S'pose you've had supper with the Queen of Mars, have you? Bet the Doctor's friends are all high and to-do. How else would he have got into Downing Street?" Jackie said.

"Nah, not really. The Doctor's just sort of got an air about him, you know? Ten minutes and he's your best friend or at least acting like it. Everybody either thinks he must be somebody or nobody. 's kind of got a switch or something, turns it on and off. His air of authority…" Rose said thoughtfully. "Doesn't work on you though."

Jackie shot her an un-amused look as she brought in the tea. "Real charmer that bloke of yours."

"He's not _mine_," Rose protested.

Jackie just gave her another look and changed the subject.

* * *

The Doctor drifted aimlessly, wandering farther from the TARDIS by the minute. His mind drifted as usual to Rose. He supposed it was better than always dwelling on the destruction of his planet. Rose. He should have realized what was happening the moment he considered taking her home to see her mother. He had never brought a companion home before, except when he was leaving them there. She was different. He had known instinctively the moment he'd snatched up her hand; but not how different. This had never happened to him before. 

He looked up and found himself in a busy commercial district. He watched the crowd flow around him distantly. It was hard to think of himself as a part of the crowd without Rose to ground him and even then they were separated from it. He could feel the turn of the Earth as he walked, his hearts beating in time with the pound of the footsteps around him.

For a moment, he let himself get swept up in the flow of time and the rotation of the Earth as it hurtled around the sun, catching fleeting glimpses of the futures and pasts of those around him. These people were grounded firmly to a linear existence without the ability to feel the subtle shifting of timelines as each new decision sparked the creation of a new path. He wondered what it was like to live one lifetime, to be unaware of senses beyond sight, taste, sound, smell, and physical sensation, to be without the lingering mental echo of the outcry of his people as they were burned from time and existence.

A tingling at the tip of his spine was the only warning. The screech of tires, the sharp bang of gunfire, the screams of frightened humans, and then the Doctor was outside of time. Sounds were unable to reach him and everything froze. He saw a bullet as if in slow motion, was close enough to stop it from ending a life not at its time. He ran and dove. There was an explosion of pain and everything sped up. The screams returned, somebody called for help, he opened his mouth to speak and darkness took him.

* * *

Rose flicked through channels as she listened distantly to her mother talk. She wondered what the Doctor was doing right now. What did he have planned next? 

"Rose! Are you even listening to me?" Jackie said indignantly. "Did you come all this way just to watch the telly?"

"I was just trying to see what was going on while I was gone," Rose said.

Jackie opened her mouth to protest, but was interrupted by the doorbell. "Who's that, then?" She said, not getting up.

Rose rolled her eyes and went to answer it. Mickey Smith was standing on the other side of the door. "Mickey!" Rose said in surprise.

"I saw the TARDIS and knew you were here," Mickey said. Rose smiled and pulled him into a hug.

"How've you been?" Rose asked.

"Good. How 'bout you? You look fantastic," Mickey said.

Rose was about to reply when her mother called from the other room, "Rose! Come quick! Oh, my gosh, it's the Doctor!"

Rose bolted into the living room. "What is it, Mum?" she asked, terrified of what had her mother so frantic.

"Look!" was all she said, pointing at the TV screen.

Rose looked and immediately collapsed into a chair, one hand clasped over her mouth. Across the top of the screen were the words, "Drive by Shooting," the scene unfolding was of an ambulance parked in front of the Queen's Arcade shopping center. There were police everywhere. But what caught her attention was the person they were loading into the ambulance. Their face was blurred out by the news crew, but there was no mistaking the battered leather jacket.

"_There is no indication that the shooting was directed at any one person. Preliminary reports point to an act of senseless violence,_" the reporter said in a voiceover.

"Two other people were injured," Jackie said. "But the Doctor…they said he jumped in front of a woman with a pram. Saved her life."

"_So far there has been no word on the identity of the local hero,_" the reporter continued. "_Police officials are asking anyone with information on who he is to get in contact immediately. He is described as tall, at least six feet, lean build, short-cropped dark hair, prominent nose and ears, last wearing a worn, leather jacket, navy blue jumper, and dark trousers._"

"It's the Doctor. Oh, Doctor…" Rose murmured, shocked.

"They won't say how badly he was hurt or which hospital," Jackie said.

"We have to call the police. We have to find out where they're taking him," Rose said desperately, fumbling for her mobile phone. Mickey took it out of her hands and dialed. She didn't thank him. She simply continued to stare at the screen.

"_The police are refusing to release anymore information to the public,_" the reporter said. On screen, they replayed the footage Rose's mother had watched moments before. The Doctor, faceless thanks to video editing, was lifted onto a stretcher. There was blood on the concrete and dripping down his leather jacket.

"Oh, my gosh," Rose whispered helplessly, tears welling in her eyes. "He's not dead, is he? He can't be dead. They would have said if he was dead, yeah?" she asked desperately.

"'course they would, sweetheart. I'm sure he's going to be alright," Jackie said, putting her arm around her distraught daughter.

"I've got the police," Mickey announced. "Yeah, we got some information on the man from the shooting," he told the person on the other line. "They put me on hold," Mickey groused.

Rose wiped at the tears that were trying to escape down her cheeks. "He's always wandering off! Why can't he just stay put?" she cried.

"There, there, sweetheart," her mum soothed.

"What if they find out he has two hearts? They'll dissect him!"

"Two what's?" Jackie exclaimed. "You're joking!" Rose didn't answer as the news anchor appeared on screen.

"_We have a new development. The police have released a sketch of the mysterious man who threw himself in front of a bullet during today's horrific drive by shooting to save a young woman and her six month old baby,_"the anchorman reported solemnly.

"Why does he always have to be the hero?" Rose raged tearfully.

A sketch of the Doctor appeared in the upper right hand corner of the screen beside the news anchor's head. There was no mistaking his severe features, especially with his big nose and ears. "_It does not appear that he has regained consciousness yet. However, one man, who remembers seeing him at his chip shop before, says that he spoke with a northern accent, probably from some part of Manchester, and was always accompanied by a young, blonde woman who seemed to be a Londoner._"

"How 'bout that, love?" Jackie said gently. "You're on the telly."

"I've got someone!" Mickey waved them quiet. "'ello? Yeah, we've got some information. Yeah, he's called the Doctor."

"Ask them where they're keeping him," Rose said anxiously.

"No, just the Doctor. I don't know!" Mickey said into the phone. He turned to Rose. "They want to know his name."

"He doesn't have a name!" Jackie said.

"Mum! Mickey, give me the phone," Rose ordered. He handed it over. "'ello?"

"_Who is this?_"

"My name is Rose Tyler. I'm…I'm the Doctor's…" she began. The Doctor's what? He usually called her his companion, but they wouldn't understand what that meant exactly. She needed to say something that would get her as much information as possible. "Fiancée, I'm the Doctor's fiancée," Rose said. Mickey looked hurt and Jackie blanched, but the policeman on the other line immediately became helpful.

"_I'm so sorry, Ma'am,_" the policeman said sympathetically, causing Rose's heart to skip a painful beat. "_Can you tell me your fiancé's name?_"

"You're his what?" demanded her mother.

"Please, tell me he's not dead," Rose begged, needing assurance of that before she could talk about anything else.

"_He's in intensive care. I'm afraid his condition is critical,_" he said.

Rose choked down a sob.

"He's dead! He's gone and died, hasn't he?" Jackie cried, seeing Rose's reaction.

"What happened?" Rose asked, past the lump in her throat.

"_I'm afraid I can't release those details, Miss. But I can tell you what hospital he's been taken to,_" the policeman said.

"Where?"

"_Albion Hospital._"

Rose had a brief flash of memory. Gas mask zombies, bananas, Jack Harkness, the Doctor ecstatic because "Just this once! Everybody lives!" "Thank you," Rose said gratefully.

"_Can you give me his name?_" the policeman asked again.

Thinking hard and coming up empty, Rose fell back on the Doctor's favorite alias. "John Smith."

"_John Smith,_" the policeman said slowly, doubtfully.

"Yeah. I know, no one ever believes it," Rose said with a nervous laugh. "Doctor John Smith. He likes to be called 'the Doctor.'"

Her mum stared at her in disbelief. "He's alive, then?" Jackie asked. Rose hoped that wasn't disappointment in her voice.

"_Doctor Smith…He was found with no identification. Are you sure this is your fiancé?_"

"Absolutely. I recognized his picture on the telly. I can tell you what he had in his pockets if you need proof," Rose said anxiously. "There'll be a tube thing, 'bout the size of a fat pen, blue light at one end. Whatever you do, don't flip the switch. And he'll have a wallet with a blank piece of paper in it"—she hoped it was blank—" and a key."

"_I believe you, Ma'am. I'll inform the hospital and let them know you're coming._"

"Thank you! Thank you so much," Rose said, breathless with relief.

"Albion Hospital," she told Mickey and her mum after she'd hung up.

* * *

**  
Author's Note: **I'll try to update every week. Hope you're enjoying it. 


	3. Leaves a Blank Slate

**Author's Note:** Sorry about the late update. I had my wisdom teeth pulled and have been layed up for the past week. I'll try to get the next chapter in on time.

* * *

He jolted awake, feeling fuzzy and disoriented. His head was scrambled and there was something covering his mouth. Yanking it off, he winced as tape pulled at his skin. He squinted at the offending object. It was a construct of plastic tubing that ended in a misshapen hole where it had been sitting against his mouth. A pump of some sort blew puffs of oxygen into the tube. Tossing the device aside, he assessed his surroundings. He was in the sort of room that could only be for medical purposes. He was on a metal framed bed, covered in a knit blanket and dressed, if he was correct, in a very thin garment that was open in the back. There was an invention that should have been scratched on the drawing board.

He disentangled himself from the various wires and monitors attached to him. He fumbled frantically to find the off switch on one of the monitors when it started letting out a long, loud, sustained beep. Relieved when the noise cut off, he stumbled as a wave of dizziness hit him. He took a step toward the door and stumbled again. It was like waking up and finding your feet were two sizes too big. Something was off, though he didn't think it was his feet.

Finding his rhythm a few unsteady steps later, he left the room and found himself in a long corridor. He had barely cleared the doorway when several people who were obviously medical personnel—unless the firefighters here wore white; not a bad idea, he supposed—ran down the corridor and rushed into the room he'd just vacated. One woman—a nurse?—brushed past him and disrupted his delicate balance. He caught himself on the wall before he collapsed in a heap, but another wave of dizziness, with a little nausea thrown in for good measure, washed over him.

"Whoa!" he said aloud. "Stop the world, I wanna get off." He blinked at the sound of his voice. "That's not right. The pitch is off." He wasn't sure what it was supposed to sound like, but something was wrong.

"Excuse me, sir, you're not supposed to be here," a young woman said, dressed in the same white uniform as the others.

"Do I look thinner to you? The proportions feel a bit wrong," he asked, patting himself down. He considered his attire. "Or it could just be this ghastly contraption. Leaves a bit of a draft in the back, doesn't it?" He looked at his pale, bare feet. "Ooh...I need some sun."

"Sir, which room is yours?" the woman asked.

"Sir? Do I look like a 'sir' to you? Sirs are old gentlemen and colonels…I'm not an old gentleman, am I?" he asked, more curious than worried.

"No, sir," she said with a frown.

"Oh, good! I don't think I could make it as an old gentleman. Far too young for that, I shouldn't wonder."

"What's your name?"

"My name? Oh, that's right! We haven't been introduced! 'course I should think we would need someone to introduce us…Know anyone like that? Hmm? Someone to introduce us, eh? No? No one?"

"I'm Nurse Phillips," she said. "You should go back to bed."

"A nurse? What a wonderful profession! Helping people, that what you do. A lovely thing to do, help people. Can't do that, I wouldn't think. I'd make a terrible nurse! I keep getting dizzy. I wouldn't be surprised if I faint at the sight of blood. Could you imagine? I wouldn't last three seconds. Besides I'm a _man_…ooh, that was a rather chauvinistic thing to say, wasn't it?" he said, frowning.

The nurse stopped another nurse and spoke to her briefly while he continued to ramble to himself. "Why do they call them chauvinist pigs? What have they got against pigs anyway? I shouldn't think pigs are very chauvinistic. Or is it that the female pigs don't notice that the male pigs are being chauvinistic? I don't think I'd be insulted if you called me a pig. They are noble creatures. Now, if you called me a—hold on," he cut himself off with another frown. "That's odd. I can't remember who am I…" His thoughtful frown turned into a grin. "Now that doesn't happen everyday! Or maybe it does? How should I know? I can't remember!" he laughed, a little hysterically. He looked at Nurse Phillips in bewilderment. "Should I be worried?" he asked, half a second before he hit the ground.

* * *

Rose stormed into the hospital reception, her mother and Mickey right behind her. She immediately went up to the front desk and said, "I'm here to see John Smith. I'm his fiancée, Rose Tyler." 

"Oh, yes, I was told you were coming," the receptionist said graciously.

"What happened to him?" Rose demanded.

The receptionist flinched back in the face of the three anxious people in front of her. "I'll call the doctor and have him speak with you," she said.

For a second, Rose thought she was talking about her Doctor. "Th-thank you," Rose stuttered, feeling as if a rug had been pulled out from under her as another long wait sprang up in front of them.

Jackie and Mickey settled into the chairs against one wall. But Rose couldn't sit, not while the Doctor was in critical condition. She hovered nervously by the reception desk, feeling her mother's and Mickey's eyes on her.

Rose couldn't believe that the Doctor had been taken down by something as "mundane" as a drive by shooting. There didn't seem to be anything alien about it. He had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Then again, he had saved that woman's life. Maybe he had been in the right place at the right time. He was always showing up in the right place at the right time to save the world. Maybe it wasn't so unbelievable after all.

"Rose, sit down, sweetheart," Jackie said.

Rose shook her head and started pacing. What if he was dying? What if this delay was costing her the chance to see him one last time? No, she couldn't think like that. He was all right. He had to be all right. He was the Doctor. He had to be all right.

"Come on, Rose," Mickey spoke up. "You'll wear a hole in the floor."

"I…I can't," Rose said. "How bad do you think he's hurt?"

"He's in critical condition, Rose," Mickey said.

She glared at him. "Yeah, I got that, Mickey," she snapped.

"You'll just have to wait for the doctor, love," Jackie said gently.

Rose pressed a hand to her forehead. "If…if something happens to him…" she murmured tearfully. Jackie came over and pulled her into an embrace.

"Shh, sweetheart. It'll be alright," Jackie soothed.

"Good afternoon, ladies, sir. I'm Dr. Hale." The doctor was a tall, thin gentlemen with a London accent and a warm smile. His short, dark hair made him look exceptionally young. "Are you here for John Smith?"

"Yes," Rose said quickly, standing up. "I'm his fiancée. Is he alright?"

"I'm afraid Dr. Smith has fallen into a coma."

"What happened? When will he come out?" Rose demanded desperately.

"The bullet perforated his skull and lodged in his brain. It caused multiple skull fractures and I'm afraid there is evidence of serious brain damage. We're also picking up some severe heart murmurs. I'm sorry, miss, but I don't think that Dr. Smith is going to make it through the night. If he does and if he ever comes out of the coma, the brain damage is so severe that he will never fully recover."

Rose dropped into her chair in shock. "No…" she whispered.

"Oh, my gosh!" Jackie cried.

"No! That can't be! The Doctor…he couldn't…" Rose choked on a sob.

Jackie pulled her daughter into a tight hug and Rose clung to her, sobbing against her shoulder.

* * *

He woke up for the second time that day, feeling a little better physically and mentally, but far worse emotionally. His head was a lot clearer and the fact that he had no idea who he was hit him immediately. He reached deep into his mind, searching for some kind of memory, but found nothing; just a big, painful, empty space. There was an echo of horrible, soul-searing, emotional pain that shook him. His mind was fearfully silent where there should have been…something; he couldn't be sure what. Who was he? What had happened to him? What planet was he on? 

He opened his eyes and saw that he was still in the medical facility. There was a blonde-haired nurse standing at the end of the bed, checking his chart.

"Why, good morning'," she said cheerfully. Something about her accent and appearance sparked a feeling of familiarity.

"'morning," he mumbled back. "Where am I?"

"You're in hospital," she told him.

"A hospital where?" he asked, rubbing his eyes. A tube connected to his left hand pulled painfully.

"In London. Albion Hospital."

Another spark of familiarity hit him at the name, but his mind was still blank. "What planet?"

The nurse stared at him like he was nuts. "Earth. You need some rest."

"Earth…" he repeated, searching his mind for an image or an inkling of memory. There was nothing.

"Can you tell me your name?"

"No, I…I can't remember," he said. "Why can't I remember?"

"You've had an accident. Can you tell me the last thing you remember?"

"Waking up in a hospital room," he answered. He was hesitant to answer her questions, cautious of saying too much, but he had nothing to keep secret.

"You can't remember any names? Faces?" the nurse asked.

"No, nothing," he said, beginning to panic.

"Alright, I need you to relax," she said gently, putting a hand on his arm.

"Relax? I don't remember who I am! How do you expect me to relax?" he demanded.

"I'll get you a doctor," the nurse said, leaving him alone.

He lay back and stared at the ceiling. This wasn't right. The silence was pressing down on him, suffocating him. He needed to get out. He pushed himself up and ran a hand through his thick hair. That was a surprise. He didn't remember having so much hair. Then again, he didn't remember his name either. He needed to get out. If he knew one thing, it was that he didn't like hospitals. Being in this one was giving him the creeps. Yanking the intravenous needle out of his hand, he climbed out of bed. He made sure to switch off the heart monitor before he removed the lead on his finger.

Moving quickly, he crossed the room and stuck his head out the door. Seeing the corridor empty, he slipped out and started down the hall. He was glad to find that his previous dizziness didn't return. He couldn't afford to collapse again. "Now, where to go?" he pondered out loud. He needed clothes first. He crept down the corridor until he found a linen rack and pilfered a clean pair of simple garments similar to those worn by the medical personnel he had seen earlier. Finding a toilet, he slipped inside and put on the white shirt and trousers. They were loose and made of a cool, thin material, not particularly attractive, but better than that horrendous thing he had been wearing before.

Suddenly, with one less distraction, he caught his reflection in the long wall-to-wall mirror above the sinks. He stared at himself in surprise. Big, soulful brown eyes stared back at him from a boyish, freckle-covered face, made more mature by his sharp chin and a few frown lines around his mouth. His mouth was thin, bottom lip sticking out in a slight pout. Brown hair stuck up in all directions. His clothes hung off his almost painfully thin body. A frown arched his brows at severe angles.

"Sideburns! I've got sideburns!" he exclaimed, hands flying to the aforementioned growth as he scrutinized his appearance. "And all this hair!" He ran his hands through his hair, causing it to stand at even more extreme angles.

Until that moment, he hadn't realized that he had formed a mental picture of himself in his mind, but his reflection now didn't match that mental image. He had a distant impression of blue-gray eyes, a large nose, big ears, an older face, broader shoulders, and short, coarse dark hair. His nose was too small, his body too scrawny, his face too young, and his smile, when he tested it, too sane. He must be confused. Surely, he would remember something as life altering as acquiring a completely different face.

He needed to get out of here. Stuffing the hospital garment in the rubbish bin, he returned to the corridor. He spotted a lift up ahead and hurried into it. Pressing the button for the lobby, he silently thanked Rassilon that it was empty. When the lift doors opened, he stepped out into a veritable hive of activity. He grinned. _I wonder if anyone will notice me_, he thought. He was barefoot after all. He embraced the challenge and walked boldly toward the door.

Two blonde women sat embracing each other on a group of chairs obviously for waiting patients. The younger of the two was sobbing, the other—no doubt, her mother or aunt or unusually old sister—was hugging her and trying to comfort her. He spared them a glance, his hearts panging in sympathy, but continued toward his goal without pause.

He burst out onto the street and took a deep breath with relief. Now, to find some decent clothes, and a good pair of shoes.

* * *

Rose's sobs had subsided by the time the doctor returned. He was carrying a big, plastic bag. 

"I'm sorry, Ma'am…" Dr. Hale started, but Rose wasn't listening. She moved to take the bag as she recognized a few of the Doctor's things and then sank into one of the plastic chairs. "These are Dr. Smith's belongings," Hale explained.

The bag was full of a strange range of objects. Among the odds and ends in the bag, she saw a banana, a yo-yo, some bits of metal and wiring, and the TARDIS key. Rose reached in and reverently pulled out his sonic screwdriver and then the slightly, psychic paper. She ran her hand over the soft leather of the wallet… "Where's his jacket?"

"We had to dispose of it. Hospital policy. It was covered in blood," Dr. Hale said sympathetically.

Rose shut her eyes against the tears that threatened. His jacket was gone. If he died...if he woke up and wasn't him anymore…she wouldn't even have that little piece of him.

"Miss Tyler, I'm afraid Dr. Smith…" Dr. Hale started again.

"He's dead, isn't he?" Jackie cried.

"No," Rose whispered desperately, hugging the bag to her chest.

"No, he's not dead; at least, we don't think he is."

"What?" Mickey demanded. "What's that s'pposed to mean, then?"

"I'm afraid he's vanished."

"What?" Rose exclaimed.

"The alarm on his heart rate monitor went off, but when the medical staff reached his room, it was empty."

"He's in a coma. You said, he was in a coma! How could he have just disappeared?" Rose demanded.

"We're searching the hospital. I don't understand how this could have happened," Dr. Hale said.

"Maybe he just woke up," Mickey said.

"The extent of the brain damage the bullet inflicted…There is no way he could have just walked out of his room," Hale said.

"Well, he's not there, so I guess he did," Rose said. "We've just gotta find him."


	4. Games of Various Sorts

**A/N: **I'd like to once again apologize for the late (read _really_ late) update. College takes up a lot of my time during the semester. I will tenatively promise you an update a month with as many extra updates as I can manage. Bear with me. This chapter is a little longer than usually so I hope that makes up for it a bit.

* * *

The man with no memory wondered aimlessly through the city, looking for somewhere to get something decent to wear. "Ah!" he said as he spotted a shop with male clothes displayed on several plastic statues. "No problem," he added with a grin. He darted across the street, barely avoiding getting run over by a ground vehicle; the wheeled version of an air car, it seemed. The driver of the ground car honked at him in annoyance. "To you, too!" he shouted back.

He turned back to the shop, but frowned. There was something he was forgetting. _Well…something besides who I am. Going to a shop to shop, not for shopping's sake, but for clothes and shoes…_ "Oh, that's right!" he exclaimed out loud. "Currency! Can't shop without something to shop with, can you? Eh?" He found himself expecting a response. There should be someone there, but there was no one. He felt his heart sink a little. He was alone. "Ah, well…" he murmured to himself with a sigh.

Frowning, he set his, he suspected, massive intellect to the problem of getting money for the things he needed. He found himself wandering again as he thought, mumbling to himself and provoking more than a few stares. Bumping into someone brought him abruptly to a halt. Mumbling a sorry, he frowned at the crowd he'd stumbled upon. "What's this, then?" he asked a woman in front of him.

She shot him a strange look, but ignored him.

"Well, that's rude. All I did was ask a simply question, looking for a simply answer. Maybe that's the type of man I am. Rude! I don't suppose you'd know, eh?" he asked.

The woman looked at him like he had grown a second nose and moved warily to the other side of the crowd.

He pushed through to the center of the crowd; his strange attire easing his passage. "Hello!" he said cheerfully when he was confronted with the cause of the commotion. A man in worn street clothes sat at a large cardboard box with a deck of cards. As the crowd watched, the man set out three cards.

"'ello," the card bloke answered indulgently with a wry smile. "What asylum did you escape from, mate?"

"Was a hospital, actually," the Joe Bloggs corrected with a manic grin. "I've amnesia!"

"'s tha' right? Care to play?" the card man asked.

"Oh, that sounds like fun. How's it work?" the amnesiac asked.

"'ere we go. 'ere's the queen of 'earts, yeah?," the card player said, lifting the middle card up to show the audience. "Now, I put it back. I mix up the cards. Then, you put down ten quid and I'll put down ten quid and you see if you can guess where the queen of 'earts is."

"I don't have any money."

"Well, I s'pose I could let you play for free jus' this once. If you win, I'll give ya ten quid if you promise to play again and if you lose it doesn't 'urt me any," the card dealer said generously.

"Ta."

With hands a blur, the card player switched the three cards back and forth in a random order until no one in the crowd could remember which card was the queen. "So, what's your guess?"

No one except the man who knew nothing else. "I don't have to guess. It's there," the amnesiac said, pointing at the card on his right.

The card dealer looked impressed. "Well, well, well, that's brill, that is," he said with a grin, handing over the money. "That was good work, wasn't it, gents?"

The amnesiac grinned. This was easy.

"Alright, mate. 'ave another go." The card player produced another ten quid and his eager customer placed his newly acquired riches on the box. Again the cards were swapped and cycled. "Where's the queen?"

The man with no memory grinned, bouncing eagerly on his toes. "On the left," he said without hesitation. He picked up the twenty pounds he'd won. "This is brilliant!"

The card player looked shocked. "That's quite a bit of luck, that is."

"Not really. It's all about keeping your eye on the card. Flick of the wrist and the cards will switch. Ooh, that's half clever. Flick of the wrist and the cards…No, I s'pose it's not even half clever. Something else...Ooh…um…I know! The cards will…no…nah…Oh, it should be—! Can I play again?"

The card dealer blinked. "Sure, mate. Care to go double?"

"Double? You mean we bet twenty instead of ten?"

"Yeah, mate."

"Alright!"

After each putting out twenty, the amnesiac watched as the card dealer once more cycled the cards. With one flick of the wrist, the queen was buried in the card dealer's sleeve and another card was swapped in to replace it. "Well, that's not fair!" the amnesiac declared with a frown. "You changed that card!"

"What are you talking about?"

"The queen is up your sleeve. I saw it!" The amnesiac turned over the cards before the card dealer could stop him. Jack, King, King. There were exclamations of anger from the crowd.

"You really are impressive. Very good," the card dealer said warily.

"Well, you're not!" the amnesiac declared with righteous indignation, baring his teeth. He snatched up the money he'd won. "You cheated! That's not right! You've taken all these people's money. I think you should leave," he said sternly.

"Listen, mate, I'm not letting some barefoot nutter drive me outta business," the card dealer countered.

"Your choice," the amnesiac shrugged. "I doubt you'll get any business from this lot." The crowd was already dissipating and the amnesiac walked away.

He had only taken a few steps when someone called out, "Hey, mate!"

The amnesiac looked around, but found no one else the approaching man could have been talking to. "Me?"

"Yeah, you. I saw what you did back there. Never seen anything like it."

"Oh, it's easy. All you've got to do is look him in the eye and act like you have authority." The amnesiac flashed him a cocky grin. "Works every time."

"No, I mean with the cards. You may be a nutter, but you've got sharp eyes. I've got a poker game today with this bloke who's been cheating me for weeks. I'd give you a percentage of the winnings if you'd play and expose him."

"Alright!" the amnesiac said. "Ooh, wait, I suppose you need to have a memory to play poker?"

"Oh, right, you have amnesia. I could teach you, I suppose. And you'll need something else to wear…and some shoes…I can provide that. What do you say?"

"I'm game!"

* * *

Rose somehow knew that the Doctor wouldn't be found in the hospital. Oh, no, he had to be difficult and get himself lost in London with a possibly fatal head wound after waking up from a coma. Rose clenched her teeth against the fear that threatened to bring tears to her eyes again. Where was he? How could he have possible left? Why hadn't he come for her?

Leaving the hospital without the Doctor was one of the most difficult things she had ever done. They stopped on the pavement just outside the lobby door. Mickey and Jackie shared anxious glances behind Rose's back as the younger Tyler stared blankly at the busy, London street, trying to fathom what had happened.

"Now what?" Mickey asked.

Rose looked at him. "What'd you mean 'now what?' Now we find the Doctor," she said sharply.

"But, sweetheart, he could be anywhere!" Jackie was taken aback.

"I can't just leave him, Mum. He's hurt. He needs me."

Mickey sighed resignedly. "Where do you want to start?"

Rose looked out at the suddenly endless city around her once more, before steeling herself. "Mickey, head back to the TARDIS. If he goes anywhere, it'll be there. Mum, you can head downtown—"

"And do what?" Jackie demanded.

"Find him, of course."

"But he could be anywhere!" Jackie repeated.

"Exactly," Rose said angrily. "He's hurt! He may be an alien, but a…a shot in the head has to have done i some /i damage. Anything could happen to him!"

Jackie looked skeptical of the idea of the search, but agreed. "Oh, alright. I'll go downtown."

Rose hoped her mum wouldn't get distracted by the shopping. "Thanks, Mum. I'll head in the other direction. Call me if you see him."

Mickey and Jackie exchanged another glance.

"Well? What are you waiting for? Let's move!" Rose commanded, setting off up the street.

As she walked away, she heard her mum say, "She sounds more like him every day."

* * *

The Albion Hospital escapee looked down at himself. He was dressed in a navy blue, pinstriped suit that was at least two sizes too big.

"Sorry, mate, that's all I have," the man who had recruited him, Thomas Friedman, apologized.

"Well…it'll do. Now, how 'bout some shoes?" the amnesiac suggested.

"Yeah, well, why don't you have a look in the cupboard?" Thomas suggested.

The amnesiac surveyed the small array of shoes: Two pairs of Patten leather, dress shoes; a pair of tan work boots; and one pair of worn, white canvas trainers. "Ooh, I like these," he said, picking up the trainers. He read the round patch sewn onto the ankle of each shoe. Chuck Taylor, it said across the middle. Converse All-Stars, was written around the circle.

"Those were my nephew's plimsolls. He left them on a visit here, years ago and never picked them up," Thomas said.

"They're perfect," the amnesiac decided matter-of-factly.

Thomas frowned. "They're a bit casual, mate."

"And this suit is too big. I have no memory. I'm not really concerned with appearances," the amnesiac said, sitting down and pulling on the shoes.

Thomas shook his head at his strange guest. "If you like them so much, keep 'em. My nephew doesn't need them."

The amnesiac grinned. "Thanks. Blimey! These are comfortable!" he said, pacing the length of the room to try them out.

"Socks would make them even more comfortable," Thomas said with an amused smirk.

His young friend lit up. "Socks! That is so brilliant."

Thomas chuckled. "You're quite a character, mate, I'll give you that."

The amnesiac tilted his head. "Is that a compliment?"

Thomas simply pulled a deck of cards out of his pocket and held it up. "Lesson one, mate."

The amnesiac grinned even wider.

* * *

"You know, having amnesia's no picnic. Seems I can't even remember the name of simply everyday objects. And how am I s'pposed to introduce myself when I can't remember my name. Why should I even bother trying to remember yours? I'm just 'me' in my head, so why can't you four be the one with the greasy moustache, Gray Suit, Comb-over—Did you _all_ have to be stereotypes? Really?—and of course, Mr. _Cheater_." The last word was rolled off the tongue, teeth bared, with mocking emphasis.

"Would you just shut up?" Greasy Moustache groaned. "You've won. Take your money and stop talking our ears off. You been wittering on for two straight hours."

"Yes, well…I've at least two skills then," the amnesiac grinned.

"Had enough, mate?" Thomas asked with a smirk.

"Oh, I don't know. I'm up for another few rounds."

"Well, I'm out," Gray Suit said, settling what he owed and heading for the door. One by one, the other two opponents left until only the cheater was left.

He stood and looked at Thomas. "I don't know what you think you're playing at, Friedman, but this ain't over," the cheater said. He shot the amnesiac a long hard glare, tossed his money on the table and left.

"Nice work, mate. You were amazing," Thomas said.

"I somehow knew I was impressive," the amnesiac said, tipping his chair onto its back legs.

_"Is that supposed to sound impressive?"_

_"Sort of."_

The memory hit him like a ton of bricks and he lost his balance, falling backwards in his chair in a pile of arms, legs, and navy blue pinstripe. Thomas broke out into laughter as the amnesiac blinked in surprise at finding himself on the floor. Pulling himself into a sitting position, the amnesiac tried to pinpoint the identities of the two voices—the first a woman's, the second a man—but the harder he tried to hold down the slippery memory, the less he could remember.

"If you're done with the acrobatics, I'll give you your money and let you go. I've got a business meeting I've got to prepare for," Thomas said, shaking his head for the hundredth time since their meeting.

With the sudden intrusion of a memory, the amnesiac realized that a cloud had lifted from his mind. The lingering euphoria—perhaps caused by the same thing that had given him amnesia—which had wreaked havoc on his moods since leaving the hospital was gone. He felt his mind sharpen and wondered for the first time what he was doing playing poker for a complete stranger—not to mention the questionable sanity of escaping from a hospital, barefoot—Surely, there were easier ways to get money.

"Right. Yup, finished," the amnesiac said, popping to his feet like a jack-in-the-box. Now that his mind was on firmer ground, he needed to get back to business. He changed back into his stolen hospital clothes, plus the trainers he'd been given and a pair of socks.

Finding himself once again on the strange London streets, the amnesiac set off in the direction of the shop he had first spotted. He thought he should be feeling a great deal more cheerful, what with the two hundred quid in his pocket and the relatively new shoes on his feet. But he was alone again. Thomas had been enjoyable company for the two hours that had lasted, but he could feel a giant hole in his hearts where someone or some people were supposed to be. His hand felt empty and he wished he had some pockets to shove both of them in.

Reaching the shop, the man with no memory waltzed in, looking around in interest. He stood there in the middle of the store for a long moment, getting his baring for once—though his sampling of his own behavior was small and unreliable.

"Can I help you?" a woman, an employee he would assume, asked, approaching him with a friendly, but decidedly cautious smile.

Returning the smile, the amnesiac gestured at his attire. "I would think so! I'm looking for something to wear, but I don't know what I'll like. I've amnesia, you see, so I'll just have to get a feel for it."

The woman frowned at him and he wondered if he had been a little too enthusiastic. Maybe the effects of whatever had given him amnesia were still at work, unless he simply had an overly enthusiastic personality. Now there was a strange thing to wonder.

His thoughts, which had began to ramble on about the unusualness of questioning your own personality and his ability to ramble mentally as well as verbally—how the two were connected threatened to come up as well—were brought abruptly to reality by the growing nervousness of the woman trying to help him.

"Were you looking for something casual or a suit perhaps?" she suggested warily.

"Hmm? Oh, right. A suit? That sounds promising," he mused.

The woman led the way, handing him off to a man, with clothes coordinated with hers, after the amnesiac had wandered off to look at something that had caught his eye, for the third time. He felt like he had been somewhere like this before. Not a shop, he knew what a shop was, but a large room full of clothes that he could browse through at his leisure. At the same time, everything felt new to him. Not only because he had no memory of every shopping before, though he knew he must have, but also because it was as if he really was experiencing everything for the first time.

The shopkeeper finally got him to the suit department and the amnesiac knew he had made the right choice. He perused the various styles and colors and found himself leaning toward brown, but it had to have pinstripes. He didn't know why; it just felt right. There! The perfect suit. It was brown with a blue pinstripe. There were several of various sizes and the amnesiac eyed them. He couldn't tell what would fit him. He kept forgetting how slight he was, seemingly all of a sudden.

The shopkeeper rescued him with an offer to measure him and they soon had picked out a suit jacket, suit trousers, a white dress shirt, a brown tie. "I'm afraid this is the only size we have that fits you. Seems a tad small. You would probably do better to get a size bigger and have the suit tailored," the shopkeeper said as the amnesiac looked at himself in a full length mirror.

"Nah. This'll do fine," the amnesiac decided, running his tongue over his teeth and then his hands through his hair as he examined his reflection.

"Very well, sir. You'll want new shoes I presume?"

The amnesiac looked down at his plimsolls with a frown. "What on Gallifrey for?"


	5. Breakdowns and Second Meetings

_What on Gallifrey for?_

The question seemed innocent as it formed briefly in his mind, but the tidal wave of pain and grief that swept over him as the words left his mouth, literally brought him to his knees. Gasping in shock, the amnesiac clutched at his head, fingers gripped in his hair. A multitude of screams resounded in his head, crying out in pain and grief.

_It's your fault! It's all your fault! You killed them!_ One voice rose above the rest, accusing and loathsome.

_Who!?_ He shouted back, whether mentally or verbally he couldn't be sure.

_Everyone! You killed them all. Murderer!_ The voice was his.

_No! I don't understand. I haven't killed anyone!_ He cried.

The accusing voice that was his own continued to rage at him as he crumbled under the onslaught of the horrible screams of the dying. He didn't understand. Who were these people? Why could he hear them? What had he done?

Darkness swam invitingly before him. With relief, he embraced unconsciousness and for the second time since waking up with no memory, he passed out.

When he awoke for only the third time in his memory, the amnesiac found himself staring at a ceiling, set with rectangular lights. Three faces appeared in his line of sight: the shop employee who had been helping him, and two unknown males. His throat was raw and he wondered distantly if the voices in his head hadn't been the only ones who were screaming.

"Are you alright, sir?" one of the men, dressed in a dark blue and white uniform that read "Security" above the breast pocket, said.

"Fine," he ground out, his voice hoarse. "What happened?" He pushed himself into a sitting position.

"You seem to have had some sort of fit," the security guard said.

The amnesiac thought that was a bit of an understatement. Running a hand through his thick hair, the amnesiac tried to stand. With a little help from the security guard, he managed to find his balance. He realized his hands were shaking and he stuffed them into his pockets to stop the tremors. His head hurt and his hearts were pounding in his chest.

"I'll be paying cash," he said simply, feeling a very strong need to get out of the store.

The shop employee and the other two men stared at him. "Very well," the shop employee said hesitantly. "Right this way."

Once outside, the amnesiac took a shaky breath of fresh air, trying to ease the panic that was building in his chest. Forget euphoria or even overly enthusiastic personalities, something terrible was lurking in his memory. The memories were already fading and he barely had the courage to even look at them sideways to try to understand before they faded completely. Pushing those thoughts out of his head, he picked a random direction and started walking, running from his speculations of what could have caused a memory so strong it knocked him out.

* * *

Rose pushed onward. No matter how impossible finding the Doctor was, she had to keep trying. After all, the Doctor had the impossible for breakfast most days and she couldn't give up on him. He needed her. If she wasn't there, who would hold his hand? Who would keep him from falling into the deep despair that always seemed to loom on the edge of the Doctor's moods?

Rose had been reduced to wandering around London aimlessly. She tried not to think about how impossible it was to find the Doctor in such a large city.

Rose bumped suddenly into someone, causing her to jump. "Oh, I'm sorry!" she said immediately. Looking up, she was confronted by a large pair of brown eyes set in a pale, freckled face. The eyes blinked in a startled manner, like an owl or a small puppy, almost as if the owner of the eyes had only just noticed that Rose was there.

"Oh, hello," the stranger said. He had a pleasant, Essex accent and a bright, boyish smile. His eyes crinkled slightly at the corners as he regarded her curiously.

Rose returned the smile politely. The first word that popped into her head as she looked at him was eccentric. He was wearing an ill-fitting, brown suit with thin, blue pinstripes and a pair of worn, white-turned-off-white converse. He was tall and skinny with a shock of messy brown hair. His eyes glittered with a sort of unrestrained enthusiasm. "Hello," she said.

He seemed to regard her with an excess of curiosity. "What are you doing?"

Rose answered before she could be offended by his rather intrusive question. "I'm looking for someone. He's called the Doctor." Rose showed him a picture of the Doctor from her phone. It had been a candid shot. She had been fidgeting with her new "super phone" and decided to take a picture. In it, the Doctor was leaning against the TARDIS console, studying the scanner. It was a close up, so you couldn't see any of the obviously alien parts of the console room.

"He looks familiar," the man said with a frown. "I feel like I know him."

"You do? Have you seen him?" Rose asked, hope swelling up in her chest.

"I don't know. What's your name?" the man asked, abruptly changing the topic.

"Rose Tyler."

"Nice to meet you, Rose."

"Hang on," Rose said, putting her hands on her hips. "What do you mean you don't know?"

"Oh, didn't I mention? I have amnesia," the man said.

"Look, mate, if you know anything about where the Doctor could be, you better tell me," she demanded.

"No, honestly, I don't even know my name," he said.

There was something believable about him. She didn't know why she trusted this complete stranger, but she did. "You really have amnesia?"

"Yup," he said, popping the "p" as he rocked back on his heels. "No idea who I am."

"How'd that happen, then?" Rose asked curiously. Then she flushed. "Sorry, I s'ppose you don't know."

The man in the pinstripes grinned. "Now you've got the idea."

"Will your memory come back?" Rose asked.

"I don't know. I've been getting flashes." He frowned at her for a moment. "Hang on. Do I know you?"

"I don't think we've ever met. Do you remember me?"

"No, but I…When I look at you, I feel like I should." The intensity in his eyes, as the dark brown turned almost black, boring into her sent a pleasant shiver down her spine and she blushed.

Rose's phone rang, bringing her out of the trance, and she answered it with a quick, "Hang on," to her rapt audience.

"_Rose, how long am I going to have to stand here? If the Doctor was going back to the TARDIS today, he would have come back by now_," Mickey said.

Rose was tired of fighting. "Alright, Mick. We'll meet you outside of Queens Arcade."

"An arcade? What's that?" the amnesiac asked as Rose hung up the phone.

"You don't know? Well, an arcade is a place you can go to play games and stuff, but 's also a kind of shopping center. The Queens Arcade is a shopping center."

The man scratched his head and looked like he was going to ask another question, but Rose was already heading toward the shopping center. He caught up.

"This 'Doctor,' how'd he go missing?"

Rose scrambled to trawl through the truth for something she could tell him. "There was a shooting. He got hurt. Took him to the hospital, but he vanished." She frowned. "Why are you following me?"

The amnesiac shrugged. "Nowhere else to go."

Rose stopped. The man continued another few steps before coming to a halt and looking around comically as he realized she wasn't still walking. He turned to her. Rose put her hands on her hips. "What do you mean 'nowhere else to go?' Haven't you got family or friends to take care of you 'til you get your memory back?"

"To tell you the truth, your doctor's not the only one to skip out of hospital," he responded, rubbing the back of his neck. He looked nervous. "That alright?"

"What are you going to do?" she asked sympathetically.

"Haven't thought that far ahead yet. Well…I have, just haven't found any solutions yet. Well…except for the quid I managed to win in a poker game."

Rose just knew the Doctor was going to kill her for picking up another stray. Especially another pretty stray.

* * *

"Mum! We're back!" Rose called as she entered the flat. Mickey and her Joe Bloggs followed her in.

"Any sign of him?" Jackie asked as she came around the corner. Her face lit up when she saw the handsome stranger standing casually in her front hall. His hands were stuffed into the pockets of his trousers and his expression pleasant. Rose rolled her eyes as her mother turned on the charm. "Why, 'ello. Who are you?"

"I don't know," he answered cheerfully.

"What do you mean you don't know?" she demanded indignantly.

"I've got amnesia apparently," he said casually.

"Oh, you poor thing! Come in and I'll make you a cup of tea," Jackie enthused, taking his arm and leading him into the lounge. "Here, let me take your coat," she offered, already pulling it off him before he had much time to react.

He'd seen the long, light brown coat in the window of a thrift shop on the way to the Arcade and he'd darted off to buy it. Rose had kept walking after only a moment's hesitation, but he'd caught up with her, grinning like a loon. Now, he let Jackie take his coat, sending Rose a slightly anxious look. She couldn't be sure if it was because of her mother's overwhelming personality or because Jackie was taking away his coat.

Rose was distracted from any thoughts of rescuing him by Mickey taking her arm and steering her aside.

"What's this about then?" Mickey demanded, apparently unable to continue to ignore this. "Bringing this bloke home; you don't even know him."

"He needed help. He's barely got any money; just the clothes on his back," Rose said.

"He could be some kind of axe murderer."

"Yeah? You said the same thing about Clive, back when I first met the Doctor. That turned out fine."

"Yeah, fine. You gallivanting across half the universe with some alien bloke you hardly know. If the Doctor were here, he'd agree with me," Mickey said, crossing his arms across his chest.

Rose snorted. "Doubtful. Look, he doesn't remember who he is. What harm could he be?"

"Loads!" Mickey said ineffectually.

Rose rolled her eyes and went into the kitchen to check on her new friend.

"Rose! Look, it's Rose!" the amnesiac said with desperate relief. "Your mother is trying to seduce me," he hissed in Rose's ear after practically diving across the kitchen to reach her. "Quick, convince her that I'm probably married and just don't know it."

"Mum, leave him alone," Rose said.

"I was only talking," Jackie said defensively.

Rose steered her charge toward the lounge room. "Sit," she ordered and he sat on the sofa.

"What are we going to call you, then?" Rose asked first. "We've got to call you something."

"How about the Amnesiac or the Man with Amnesia?" he suggested.

"Don't be daft. Blimey, what is with blokes and title?" Rose said.

"What about Benjamin? Or Calonious? Or Fred? Bit too boring? How 'bout Rupert? …No?"

Rose laughed. "Friend of mine's always calling himself John Smith."

"How about that?"

"No!" Rose said too quickly. She tried again. "No, I'd rather you didn't," she said more calmly.

"Well, what do you like?" he asked.

Rose considered him. "Well…how about…Charles?" she offered tentatively after casting back over her adventures with the Doctor for a name they could use.

His face lit up. "Charles? Ooh, I like it. No, wait…I think I knew a Charles. Still, I doubt he'd mind whoever he is…was…will be."

Rose smiled in amusement, but her mind was wandering back out into the street where she might find the Doctor.

He continued to prattle on. "But Charles what?" He stood and started pacing, fingers threading through his messy hair. "Charles…McCrimmon? Charles Smith? Charles Chaplin? Charles…Henderson. Charles Plymouth. Charles Jibalian. Charles Lethbridge. Charles Dic—That's it! Charles Lethbridge! What do you think?"

Rose was beginning to think maybe Mickey was right. This man was a right nutter. Still, there was something about him that drew her in. "Uh, yeah, 's great. Charles, then."

He, Charles, now, she supposed, beamed at her.

"Well, now that you have a name, what are we going to do with you?" Rose asked.

"Do?" Charles echoed.

"Well, you can't live on of a few quid you won off a poker game," Rose said.

"I suppose not," Charles said thoughtfully, the most serious she had ever seen him.

"I'll talk to my mum if you like. The flat's a bit small, but we could put you up on the couch until you get back on your feet," Rose offered.

"I wouldn't want to impose," Charles said.

"Well, it's either that or you can stay with Mickey," Rose suggested. She laughed as he grimaced. Apparently, Charles and the Doctor had a few things in common. Her laughter died as she thought of the Doctor. He was still out there; hurt and probably lost. Why else wouldn't he have come and found her?

"Rose? What's wrong?" Charles asked concerned.

"Nothing. 'm just worried about the Doctor," she said.

"I'm sure you'll find him," Charles said with a reassuring smile.

* * *

**A/N:** Sorry for taking so long to update. I'm going to college and I'm in ROTC so it takes up most of my time. Plus I'm very ADD about writing and I have trouble sticking to one story when five others are demanding to be write from scratch. The updates will came eventually. Don't worry, I'll tell you before this story dies...Which it won't. Thanks for the patience.


	6. Amnesia isn't Contagious

**Chapter Six: Amnesia Isn't Contagious**

Rose looked over at the stray. He was still for the first time since she had run into him. He was sitting on the couch, leaning forward with his elbows perched on his knees. His expression was serious, another first. His lips were pressed together in a small, involuntary pout, caused by the shape of his lips, and his brown eyes were wide and sad. She was struck with his sudden vulnerability. There was a seriousness about him, now that he wasn't projecting that comic cheerfulness.

"You alright?" Rose asked.

"What?" he asked.

"You look sad. I asked if you were alright," Rose said.

"Sad? No, I'm fine," he said, looking genuinely confused. "There's no one happier than a man with no bad memories." He flashed her his infectious grin, but this time she could see that it was forced. She knew what it was like to be the odd person out in a sea of strange faces, sights, and experiences. Usually, she had the Doctor to stand beside her, to hold her hand. Charles must feel like she had on that first day on Platform One when everyone around her had been an alien, including the man who had brought her there.

Rose smiled softly at him. "Come on, let's get you a cuppa."

Rose went out the next day and the day after that to look for the Doctor. Charles went with her each time, ostensibly to look for a job. He was sleeping on their couch for now and Rose suspected that he was just as afraid of her mother as the Doctor seemed to be. Mickey had given up, claiming work as his excuse.

Charles seemed to mellow out as time passed, but only a little. Rose was fairly sure that his cheerfulness was becoming less genuine as time passed. It was like he was coming down off of some emotional high. He was getting quieter. His gob was still as unstoppable as ever, but his enthusiasm was slowly waning the longer Rose knew him. Maybe he'd been on narcotics while in hospital or maybe he'd been in shock and it was all hitting him now. No one seemed to be missing him.

He didn't seem to be making any effort to find out who he was. Although, Rose didn't have any idea where he would start. After five days, Charles and Rose seemed to have fallen into a holding pattern, doing the same thing every day and coming home with the same results. Tired and frustrated, Rose caught Charles' wrist to stop him.

"Come on, I need a break. Let's get some chips," she suggested.

"Chips?" he echoed, confusion in his tone.

"Yeah, chips."

"What are they?" Charles asked curiously.

"You've never had chips? Blimey, where did you live? Mars?" Rose exclaimed.

"I wouldn't know, remember?" Charles returned with a grin.

"Come on, you. You've got to live a little, mate," Rose said, dragging him toward the nearest chip shop. She bought two batches for them to share; one with vinegar, one without.

Charles sat down on the wall Rose had found as a perch and slowly tasted each, rolling them around in his mouth to get the full experience.

"So, these are chips," he said as if he had made the most incredible discovery. "They're absolutely brilliant!" he declared enthusiastically.

Rose laughed. She shook her head. "I can't believe you've never had chips before."

"Well, they do seem familiar. But…not ringing any bells. Not church bells or door bells or those little bells on bicycles," he chattered.

Rose grinned at him and he grinned back. They went back to their chips, watching passersby and enjoying a companionable silence.

"You know," Charles said thoughtfully, "the more I know you, the more familiar you seem."

Rose laughed. "Of course I do. That's what happens when you get to know someone."

Charles laughed, too. "Right. Of course. Still…I feel as if I've always known you. Strange."

Rose looked at him seriously. "Well, we hadn't met before a few days ago. I'm sorry. I wish I had known you. Then I could help you find your family or your home."

Charles looked straight ahead, staring into space. "Something tells me I have neither."

Rose's chest tightened at his words. "Don't say that. You can't know that."

"Sometimes…" he said, his eyes intense as if he saw something invisible to Rose, "I wish the world would stop turning."

A shiver ran down her spine as Rose was reminded of the Doctor's words.

"_I can feel it._ _The turn of the Earth. The ground beneath our feet is spinning at a thousand miles an hour, and the entire planet is hurtling around the sun at sixty-seven thousand miles an hour, and I can feel it. We're falling through space, you and me. Clinging to the skin of this tiny little world, and if we let go..."_

"Rose? Rose?" a different voice broke through the memory, slightly higher in pitch, less northern in inflection.

"What?" She blinked, startled by the brown eyes looking back at her.

"You're ringing," Charles said.

"Sorry, what?" Rose repeated.

"Your phone?"

"Oh, right. Sorry." She scrambled for her mobile. "'ello?" It was her mother, asking when they'd be home for dinner. It was later than Rose had thought. She promised Jackie they were headed back and failed to mention the chips they still had to finish. She hung up and relayed the conversation to Charles. He sprang up, his morose mood vanishing like lightning.

"Let's not be late. I'd rather not get an earful," he said.

She watched him walk away for a moment. Another man had once spoke to her of the spinning Earth and then walked away. "_That's who I am. Now, forget me, Rose Tyler. Go home."_

She hadn't been able to forget him then and she wasn't going to forget him now. The TARDIS still sat in the alley behind Bucknell House. The Doctor had to be somewhere on Earth, if not still in London.

Running to catch up with Charles' long strides, Rose tried to be cheery. They couldn't go out again tonight so she might as well try to relax.

* * *

Two weeks was both a very long time and a very short time to not know who you were. Time was incredibly relative. Especially when you could see beyond the present to glimpses of the past and a possible future; what is, what was, what could be, what must not. How frustrating to see so much and yet to be so blind to his own life. But at least it made sense. Rose's friend, the Doctor—a man who was almost as familiar to him as Rose herself though he knew only what she had told him which was very little—was just as invisible to him and he didn't know why.

Mickey's timeline was stunted by his infatuation with Rose. If he stayed on the non-path he was on now, he would never be anything more than a lonely mechanic forever longing for the girl who had once loved him. Rose's was full of possibilities, swirling and spinning in a vortex of colors and planets and moments and danger, making it impossible for him to pin a single one down. But why the Doctor was out of sight was a mystery.

Watching television with Rose and her mother at night before they went to bed made Charles wonder if not everyone could see what he could. He wanted to ask Rose; wanted to tell her how restless the whirlwind of timelines made him, but he was afraid of what they might do if he was right and this time sense was not normal for them. Something—some distant memory, perhaps, pressing through just enough for him to get an impression of it—told him that it was normal for him, whoever he was, but that, at the same time, it was not the norm for the inhabitants of this little world.

The more time passed the stronger the conviction that not only was this not his home planet, but that he had no home. It was a belief founded purely on a feeling, a deep seated, pounding in his head whenever he tried to remember. He saw orange when he thought of home; bright, flame-like colors glinting off silver. He had a sinking suspicion that he didn't want to acknowledge that some memory of home had caused his breakdown in the store.

The only thing that kept him from despairing was Rose. She was so full of life. Even constantly worrying about the Doctor, she always had a smile for him. Her laugh was addictive and he found himself spending hours trying to come up with ways to cause it. His hearts were certain that he knew her even though he trusted that if they had met before she would have remembered and told him. He was terribly and foolishly jealous of the Doctor for having such a wonderful woman as a friend for longer than Charles had known her and for the time she spent thinking about him and searching for him now that he was lost.

There was no one looking for Charles. He was sure about that now. His head was empty of more than just memories. There should be something in the great void in his mind. The why's and the how's that his shattered memories hinted at were too horrible to think about.

"I don't like that you've given up," Rose said once again pulling him from his morose thoughts.

"I see a lot of things, Rose. Faces of friends and…companions that I know have all left or…were lost, but a home…a family, I haven't see that," Charles said with a shake of his head. "I'll stay until you find the Doctor and if no one has found me by then, I'll go." He didn't know where he would go, but he knew that he couldn't stay here as much as he desperately wanted to stay with Rose. Maybe it was because she was the only familiar thing on this world or maybe because she was quickly becoming his best friend—not that there was anyone else clambering for the position.

"Do you think that I should give up on London? Not on the Doctor. Just on his being in London?" Rose asked, tentatively. She sat beside him on her mother's couch. "He should have come back by now."

"With the wounds you said he had, in all likelihood, he has amnesia like I do. If you stray too far, he may come back and you'll miss him," Charles said.

Rose nodded as if that was what she'd needed to hear. He didn't point out the possibility that the Doctor was dead; a possibility that Rose was obviously ignoring. She got enough of that from her nagging mother and he knew that she understood that it was a distinct chance.

Rose settled against the back of the couch and directed her attention to the telly. Charles took a moment to watch her. He'd been having dreams about her. He could only assume they were dreams since they couldn't be memories. They were nothing concrete, just flashes like his memories. Sometimes it was just a phrase, some nonsensical sentence that would have made sense in context. Or he would see her smile. Or her eyes lit up in wonder at something; something he had shown her. How could these simply be memories? It was possible that they were moments of possible futures, but he knew what that felt like and this wasn't it. He didn't know. All he did know was that he dreaded a time when all she would be was a memory.  


* * *

Rose was in a rut and she didn't like it. The heart pounding worry had faded to a distant ache over the three weeks since the Doctor had disappeared and she was terribly guilty about it. How could she just go on living when the Doctor was lost? Her mother didn't call it living. Jackie just didn't understand how Rose could still be looking. Charles did. Charles had faithfully gone out with her each day for the six weeks, ignoring Jackie's rants at Rose, that he could always hear, about how he was sponging off them, incapable of finding a job. Rose always countered that she didn't have a job either, but that just sent Jackie into an entirely different rant. Rose knew she couldn't keep living off her mother's hard work, but she couldn't give up on the Doctor.

Charles had come with her today as he always did. They did make a half-hearted effort to find him a job, but never put much work into it.

"You know you don't have to help me find the Doctor. He's not your problem," Rose said, leaning against the rail. They stood on London bridge as they once more rested from they're search. Rose liked it here because it reminded her of the Doctor and was a spot that he might know to look for her.

"I know, but he's obviously someone important to you. And besides, you helped me find my way again. Least I could do is return the favor," Charles said.

"That was nothing. I was just being friendly," Rose said humbly. "Anyone would have done it."

"You're wrong about that, Rose. People aren't nice people collectively, it's only individually that people are nice. It's the persons that are nice. I hate people, but I love persons," he said vehemently.

"That didn't make any sense," Rose said, laughing.

"I know!" He laughed with her.

"I think I get what you mean, though," Rose said, sobering. "Charles, where are you going to go when all this is over?"

"I don't know, really. I could go anywhere. Ireland, Scotland, Wales, France…I've always wanted to go to Naples—or at least I think I have," Charles said. "It's a bit of a bother having no memory."

Rose nodded, looking down at her hands. "You could stay here, yeah? If you wanted…"

"Here as in on this bridge or here in this city?"

"Here in London…"

"I don't know, Rose. I feel…trapped here. Like the borders are closing in and if I don't get out now…" he trailed off.

"Oh. Never mind then. It was just a suggestion," she said, brushing it off with a nervous laugh.

He looked down at her with his big, brown eyes. "On the other hand, there is a lot here that I would miss."

She looked up, wide-eyed. "Like what?" she breathed.

"The chips, for example," he murmured, leaning over her.

"Oh?"

"The chips are good here. I love chips. Chips should be a staple," he continued softly. His eyes roamed over her face, dwindling on her lips for a long moment. "And you, Rose Tyler…" He cut himself off by pressing his lips gently to hers. She inhaled sharply in surprise. He took that for an invitation and kissed her again, cradling the back of her neck in one hand. Charles tilted his head down to get a better angle and Rose stood up on her toes to meet him halfway as she kissed him back. He smelled, of all things, like oregano and autumn and something intangible and tasted like nothing she had ever experienced before. She slid her hand up his arm, he cupped her cheek with his other hand, and—

"_I'm sorry. I didn't mean what I said…I am glad it's just you and me again."_

Rose jerked in shock and pushed him away. She'd heard the Doctor's voice in her head just as if he were standing right there. Charles looked at her, hurt shining in his brown eyes.

"Rose…?" he asked.

"_So, where'd you pick this one up, then? He's a bit pretty."_

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I can't do this," she cried, backing away.

"I don't understand."

"I-I'm sorry, Charles, but…I can't."

"It's the Doctor, isn't it?" he asked. She expected him to say the Doctor's name with disgust like Mickey always did when he was angry, but Charles spoke gently as if he was simply trying to understand. There was sadness in his voice, but he didn't hate her for rejecting him.

"I…yes. I feel like I've betrayed him. It's not your fault. I shouldn't have—"

"_I_ shouldn't have kissed you," Charles countered. "No, that's not true. I should have known how you felt about the Doctor. But in my ignorance, I _should_ have kissed you, feeling the way I do."

Rose looked at him in surprise. "I—"

He put his fingers to her lips. "Shh. Don't say anything. We're still mates, aren't we?"

She nodded mutely.

He smiled, if a little sadly. "See, no harm done. How 'bout some chips?"

Rose stared after him as he started to walk away. "Charles?"

"Yes?"

"That's it?"

"What else do you want me to say?"

"I…I don't know."

"You've been dating Mickey Smith too long, Rose. Unless your feelings change, nothing's going to happen between us. No reason why we can't be mates, eh?"

Rose shook her head.

"Chips it is then," he said cheerfully.


End file.
